


Snow Angels

by enigmaticblue



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 13:32:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1690112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of Christmas fluff, set in an alternate future, post-NFA. (Can you have too many of those?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Angels

Spike entered the study cautiously. Buffy had been touchy all day, and he wasn’t quite sure how to get through to her. He wanted to be sure that it wasn’t him, that she wasn’t regretting her choice.

 

At least he could be sure that she _had_ chosen him, and not Angel, since Peaches had received the shanshu after all. Apparently, the Powers That Be didn’t much care if he’d signed it away, and Buffy didn’t want a normal guy.

 

It was news to him.

 

“Buffy?”

 

She turned from the fire. “Hey.”

 

“Hey.” He took a step closer. “You okay?”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Spike bit back a sigh at her stock answer. “You want to get out of here? It’s snowing.”

 

“Is it?” she asked absently, turning back to the fire.

 

“For the last couple of hours.” He waited for her response. “Or we could go upstairs. Most of the Slayers are gone, so we don’t have to be quiet.”

 

“We’re never quiet.”

 

“Yeah, but this way you won’t have to try.”

 

“No, thanks.”

 

“You hungry?”

 

“Not really.”

 

Spike was getting a little frustrated. “You want me to leave you alone, then?”

 

“No.” This time she turned back around to face him. Spike knew her so well, and yet there were times when her expression was inscrutable; this was one of those times. “Let’s go out. Maybe I’ll be hungry by the time we get to the pub.”

 

Spike shrugged into his leather duster and waited patiently for Buffy to bundle up. When she’d donned hat, scarf, gloves and coat, she shoved her hands into her pockets. “Okay. I’m ready.”

 

The road was quiet. Most of the Slayers had gone home for the holidays; those who didn’t have homes to go to had gone with friends, leaving the Council headquarters much quieter than usual. Spike had half-expected Buffy to embrace the opportunity to spend as much time together as possible, but she’d retreated into her shell in a rather alarming fashion.

 

Snow crunched under their boots as they walked the mile or so to the pub. Although Buffy’s breath came out in white puffs, Spike didn’t think it was too cold. He might have offered her body heat, if he’d had any, but her posture suggested that she didn’t want to be touched.

 

“Did I do something?” he asked tentatively.

 

The look she gave him was slightly exasperated. “Not everything is about you, Spike.”

 

His anger flared. “Well, excuse me for caring.”

 

Silence fell again, and this time it was filled with tension. “I’m sorry.” Her tone was truly contrite. “Really. It’s just…”

 

When she trailed off, Spike risked putting an arm around her shoulders. “Yeah?”

 

“It’s just that I miss Mom, especially during the holidays.” She paused, forcing him to stop as well. Buffy looked out at the snow-covered fields that lined the road between headquarters and the nearest town. It wasn’t too far away, but there wasn’t much to see. “She would have loved this.”

 

“Yeah, suppose she would have.”

 

The silence warmed him this time as Buffy leaned her head against his chest. The leather of his jacket creaked with cold as Spike put his arms around her, drawing her close. “Will you do me a favor?” she mumbled.

 

“Anything.”

 

Buffy released him and walked off the road, onto the verge. “Come on,” she said, as she dropped to the ground, laying on her back in the snow.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Making a snow angel.” Sure enough, she was waving her arms and legs, carving out the shape of an angel.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Spike muttered.

 

Buffy stopped cold. “You promised you’d do me a favor.”

 

“Snow angels?” he asked, knowing that his voice was dangerously close to a whinge. “Why can’t it ever be snow pirates?”

 

Buffy raised her head, her grin big and bright. “Snow _pirates_? Let’s see it.”

 

After a moment’s thought, Spike let himself fall back into the snow, letting his duster spread out behind him. He put one hand on his hip, and the other up above his head. Being careful not to disturb the shape he’d made, Spike pushed himself up off the ground, grinning proudly at the void in the snow.

 

“Snow pirate.”

 

Buffy stood up and looked, smiling. Spike could understand why she was so amused. There, in the snow, were the shapes of a pirate—or a shape that looked a bit like a pirate—and an angel. He thought it was fitting, really.

 

“Thank you.” Buffy leaned her snowy head against his arm.

 

Spike glanced down at her. “For what?”

 

“For making me laugh. I needed that.”

 

“Anytime. You know that.”

 

“I do.”

 

There was a quiet moment, and Spike whispered. “I still miss my mum—and yours—too.”

 

And they stood, staring at the shapes in the snow, until they turned to finish their walk to town.


End file.
